


The Upper Hand

by HootieMcBoobs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fuck Or Die, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HootieMcBoobs/pseuds/HootieMcBoobs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poisonous berry. A preposterous cure.</p><p>An endless battle for the upper hand.<br/>~~~</p><p>
  <i>She raced through the castle, never slowing even though her lungs ached, the sentence Madam Pomfrey hadn't finished echoing in her head.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Life and death. Life and death. Life and death.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ron was sitting on an infirmary bed beside McGonagall. When Hermione pulled up beside him, he blushed a furious red but otherwise looking absolutely, completely fine.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Baffled, Hermione looked between him and Professor McGonagall, wheezing as she tried to regain her breath.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Thank you for coming, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said. “Mister Weasley needs your assistance - ”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No, forget it,” Ron said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “No, I'd rather die.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Mister Weasley, sit down!” McGonagall thundered and Ron immediately dropped back onto the bed.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>~~~~</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Upper Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Order of Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732079) by [HootieMcBoobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HootieMcBoobs/pseuds/HootieMcBoobs). 



> So is it possible to plagiarize yourself? I sure as hell tried. This is a remix of my other story, The Order of Things, except this time the shoe is on the other foot.

Hermione's relationship with Ron was always about maintaining the upper hand.

 _He_ was mooning over Madam Rosmerta at the Leaky Cauldron, well _she_ was giggling loudly with the handsome clerk at Honeyduke's. _He_ puffed out his chest when Fleur Delacour floated past, _she_ cheerfully informed him about another meeting with Viktor Krum. _He_ went out with Lavender Brown, well _she_ was going out with Cormac McLaggen.

She knew deep down that it was entirely ridiculous how much she cared about showing Ron that she didn't care.

They key was that _Ron_ didn't know it.

In Herbology today, he was, as usual, paired off with Harry and the two of them looked like they were having a perfectly lovely time slacking off and not paying attention. Also as usual. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron caught her look and grinned at her, entirely unapologetic. 

It was just to get a rise out of her, she knew it. She and Ron were barely on speaking terms at the moment. She had accidentally spilled her tea on him in the morning, to which he took great - and, she thought, _unwarranted_ \- offense and they had alternated between snarkiness and ignoring each other through their morning classes.

He was so infuriating. 

But he was also tall. And his shoulder seem to have gotten so much broader and his red hair seemed even more brilliant than usual. And the mere thought of him seemed to make her stomach flip-flop in a way that was most pleasant. 

And most unwelcome. 

Because this was a war.

“You ready?” The question from Neville broke her reverie. He had finished packing up their knapsack and now beamed at her, as eager as she was to begin the lesson. Hermione never minded by paired with Neville for Herbology, he was very adept and knowledgeable when it came to plants. Sometimes, she admitted, maybe even a little better than she was, a fact that irritated her to no end.

“Ready,” she said and followed him out of the greenhouse toward the Forbidden Forest.

“Remember!” Professor Sprout shouted. “It is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Stay within earshot and do not, under any circumstances, touch anything you can not identify or speak to anything that can speak back to you!”

Hermione and Neville worked diligently and effectively, being the first pair to locate a patch of fluxweed and showing it to Professor Sprout, earning five points for Gryffindor. Triumphant, and with lots of time to kill until the end of class, the duo returned to the forest to do some additional poking around. The Forbidden Forest was usually, well, _forbidden_ , so both Hermione and Neville revelled in the chance to do some additional exploration.

She was investigating a particularly interesting green and pink frog when there was a loud commotion behind her. She looked up just in time to see Professor Sprout dragging a sullen-looking Ron off into the direction of the castle.

 _Ha_ , she thought snidely. _Serves you right_.

“What's going on there?” Neville said.

“Looks like he's in trouble,” she said dismissively. “Probably off to detention.” Viciously cheered by this turn of events, she turned back to her fascinating frog, whistling as she did so.

Her good mood began to ebb as the class stretched on and there was no sign of Ron or Professor Sprout. They had been gone a long time, in fact class was almost over. Even if Ron had gotten in trouble, Professor Sprout should have been back by now -

Just then, Professor Sprout _did_ reappear, with Madam Pomfrey hot on her heels. Panting from the exertion, Madam Pomfrey spotted Hermione and made an immediate beeline in her direction.

Hermione could feel her heart picking up. “What is it?” she said urgently. “What's wrong?”

“It's Mister Weasley,” the matron panted out between gasps of breath. “He's in the infirmary. The situation is very dire, I'm afraid it's a matter of life and - Miss Granger wait!”

Hermione was already running. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She raced through the castle, never slowing even though her lungs ached, the sentence Madam Pomfrey hadn't finished echoing in her head.

_Life and death. Life and death. Life and death._

She burst through the infirmary doors without even breaking her stride. She could see Professor McGonagall at the far end of the room. Even at a distance Hermione could see the gravity on the professor's face and it gave her the final burst of strength to dash the length of the room.

Ron was sitting on an infirmary bed beside McGonagall. When Hermione pulled up beside him, he blushed a furious red but otherwise looking absolutely, completely fine.

Baffled, Hermione looked between him and Professor McGonagall, wheezing as she tried to regain her breath.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said. “Mister Weasley needs your assistance - ”

“No, forget it,” Ron said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “No, I'd rather die.”

“Mister Weasley, sit down!” McGonagall thundered and Ron immediately dropped back onto the bed.

“As I was saying,” McGonagall continued with a stern look at Ron, “there has been a very serious accident. Mister Weasley has come in contact with a poisonous substance that, if left untreated, will result in his death. There is a cure,” she added quickly, seeing the surge of panic on Hermione's face. “That's where you come in.”

“Anything,” Hermione said quickly. “I'll do anything.” She glanced at Ron but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

“A quick test first,” McGonagall said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at Hermione. “May I?”

“Okay,” Hermione said, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

McGonagall murmured a spell Hermione had never heard before and gave her wand a quick flick. Hermione felt a brief surge of heat, then nothing.

“Very good,” McGonagall said, looking pleased. “You'll be suitable.”

“Suitable for?” Hermione said.

“In a moment,” McGonagall said, tucking her wand back into her robes. “Now the substance he has come in contact with is the swartz mistletoe. Are you familiar with it?”

“No, I'm not,” Hermione said, irritated by that fact.

“It is an incredibly rare plant, and exceedingly dangerous to a certain subset of those with magic blood. Female witches carry a built-in immunity, males do not. In the case of exposure without the immunity, the long chain of symptoms begins with a deep-seated itch at the back of the head - ” she gestured toward Ron, who was absent-mindedly scratching at his scalp - “and quickly progresses to weakness and imminent death.”

McGonagall tented her fingers and went on, frowning. “The swartz mistletoe has an alternate name, the Virgin's Bane. It is called so because the female's built-in immunity to the poison is passed to a male through sexual intercourse, making virginal male wizards the only group susceptible to the mistletoe's deadly effects. In the event of exposure to the mistletoe by a member of that group, prompt sexual intercourse with a female witch will still pass on the immunity in time to save his life.” 

McGonagall looked at Hermione pointedly. Ron, again, seemed fascinated by his feet.

“I don't understand,” Hermione said, shaking her head. It was all very interesting, but she couldn't see what any of that had to do with her or Ron.

McGonagall spoke slowly. “Virgin males with wizarding blood do not carry the immunity to this plant.”

“But that's not Ron,” Hermione said, confused.

“It is, Miss Granger.”

She actually laughed out loud. “No, it's not. He's not a virgin.”

“I am so,” Ron said in an indignant tone.

“Oh come off it,” she said incredulously. “We all saw you with Lavender last year - ”

“Well obviously not!” Ron said hotly, furiously scratching at the back of his head.

She frowned at him. It was obvious now that he was telling the truth. Despite all his whispered snickering with Harry last year, despite all of Lavender's snide comments said just loud enough for Hermione to hear, despite Hermione's own fevered imagination... Ron hadn't slept with Lavender and a giant, 800 pound weight that Hermione had been carrying around for a year suddenly lifted off her heart.

But it also meant he was a virgin. 

And that meant he was going to die.

Unless someone has sex with him.

And that's why she was here.

“You want me?” The incredulous words squeaked out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Ron blushed furiously. He looked down at his feet and muttered something unintelligible.

Professor McGonagall delicately cleared her throat. “If you aren't comfortable, Miss Granger, we can find someone else - ”

“No,” she blurted out quickly. “No, I'll do it.” The furious blush roared back into her cheeks again, rivalling Ron's.

“Very well,” McGonagall said briskly. “We are running out of time so I will be blunt. The immunity to the swartz mistletoe is believed to be given when the head of the male's penis comes in contact with the vaginal walls of a female of wizarding blood.”

“So it's not the _Virgin's_ Bane necessarily,” Hermione said, fascinated. “If Ron had only had sex using a condom, or only had sex with Muggle women, he still wouldn't have the immunity because there wouldn't have been that contact.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, beaming at her. “Five points to Gryffindor.”

“Can we maybe cover this another time?” Ron said from the bed. “I'm dying here. Literally.”

“Yes, of course,” said McGonagall, all business again. “Little is known about the exact process but it is important to note is the immunity is strongest in the rugae from the upper portion of the vagina. That's what I was checking with that initial spell, Miss Granger, the suitability of your vaginal rugae.”

“Oh. Great,” Hermione said.

“In essence,” McGonagall went on, “the deeper he goes, the stronger the immunity. Now without getting into the details of your anatomy, Mister Weasley - ”

“Oh God,” Ron groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“ - a male of average size will have no trouble reaching the depth required for the immunity to be passed. Just ensure that your penis is inserted as deeply as you can, that will better your chances. Miss Granger,” she added, turning to Hermione, “as discussed, there can be no use of any type of barrier contraceptive. Is there any possibility that you are carrying any form of sexually transmitted disease?” 

Despite the direness of the situation, Hermione laughed out loud. Her sexual experience wouldn't make a nun blush. “No. None.”

“Very well. Unfortunately, Mister Weasley's stubbornness in suggesting a volunteer for this endeavour has taken a lot of time from us,” McGonagall went on. “He is already very weak. You may be required to take the superior position.”

“Superior to what?” Hermione said absent-mindedly. When McGonagall just looked at her pointedly over her square-rimmed glasses, it sunk in. 

“Oh.” Hermione's could feel her cheeks darkening again. This must be setting some sort of record.

“Do you need instruction on the mechanics - ”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “No, I can figure it out.”

McGonagall handed her a corked vial containing a reddish liquid. “It's a contraceptive,” she said. “You can take it now.” 

Hermione obediently uncorked the vial and drained the liquid in one long swallow. She felt a brief swirl of nausea in her stomach, then nothing. 

“I'm sorry, both of you,” McGonagall said, “and I assure you, there is going to be a serious investigation as to how this substance even got on school grounds in the first place.” Her face looked thunderous and Hermione felt a brief pang of sympathy for Hagrid.

“Just remember you don't have much time,” McGonagall said, looking between Hermione and Ron. “So if there are no more questions?” 

“No,” said Ron.

Hermione shook her head. Professor McGonagall gave them one last sympathetic look and left the room, her footsteps echoing through the isolated infirmary.

That left Hermione with Ron.

Alone.

To have sex.

“So...” she said. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” he said. “A stupid little plant. Who'd have thought it? I was only picking it to - ” His voice tailed off and he seemed suddenly unable to meet her eyes again.

“To what?” she said gently.

“To show you,” he said, fiddling with the sleeves of his robe. “I know I was a jerk today. So I saw those berries and I thought you might think they were interesting so...”

She wasn't sure how to respond to something so thoughtful from him, so she automatically defaulted to her standard defensive position. “Well if you'd just listened to Professor Sprout - ”

“Do you really think now is the right time for a lecture?” Ron said sourly.

“All right, all right.” 

They looked at each other awkwardly across the bed, then Hermione silently began removing her school robes. Ron flushed and did the same. She turned her back on him to take her pants and socks off, folding them neatly and putting them on a chair. They would only need their lower halves undressed, there was no medical reason for taking off her shirt so she didn't. She turned back to check on Ron's progress.

He was still struggling out of his robe. Professor McGonagall, it appeared, had not been exaggerating about time running out. Even in the few short seconds it had taken Hermione to begin undressing Ron looked like he was deteriorating. His arms were shaking from the strain of taking off his robe and he swayed on his feet as he fumbled with his belt.

“Just lie down, Ron,” she said, “I can finish the rest.”

He crawled weakly onto the infirmary bed, lying down in the middle. The bed was partially reclined to a half-sitting position. Hermione wasn't sure if that made things better or worse.

He had managed to get his belt and pants undone on his own. Hermione gripped the waistband of his jeans on either side of his waist then decided if she was in for a penny, she was in for a pound and hooked her fingers under his underpants too, her fingers trailing across his bare, heated skin.

Ron lifted his hips off the bed and she tugged at his clothes, trying to pull them down toward his feet but having little luck. A quick inspection showed that they were snagged, stuck on the growing bulge at the front of his shorts. She gaped at it, her mouth dropping open.

“Sorry,” Ron said, his face a shade of purple she had never seen him obtain before.

She tugged again and his erection sprung free, slapping up against his belly. Blushing furiously and trying to keep her mind on the task at hand she tore her eyes away so that she could finishing pulling his pants and underwear down over his feet.

His socks were still on and for some reason that bothered her immensely but, like his shirt, there was no medical reason for taking them off so she left them alone and did her best to put them out of her mind. Luckily there were plenty of other things going on in her mind to distract her.

Like Ron's penis.

Like Ron's naked, erect penis that she could vaguely see out of the corner of her eye but couldn't make out any details. She warred internally with herself.

_Don't look at it._

_Why not?_

_It's not polite!_

_Polite?! It's going to be inside you in a minute, you're allowed to look. Don't you want to know what you're in for?_

That was logical. She took a breath and looked.

It was fascinating. She'd seen pictures of erect penises before (Lavender had a particular magazine that she loved to leave lying around the dorm room) but she'd never seen one in person. And this wasn't just any penis, this was _Ron's_. He was large, thicker than she would have expected, several shades darker than the rest of his skin. He was completely hard, his erection jutting back up toward his chest, but the skin looked somehow soft at the same time. Ron flinched under her scrutiny but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Her fingers itched to touch him, test the texture with her hands, feel the girth and weight of him, see how he'd respond to her touch. 

But this wasn't an experiment, it was a requirement and she owed it to Ron to keep things as professional as possible.

“So it looks like you're ready then,” she said, trying to channel her own steely, clinical Professor McGonagall.

“I guess,” Ron said, his voice dull with embarrassment. “Uh, are you?” 

She didn't answer. She slipped her underwear off and stepped out of them, feeling his eyes on her. Without looking at him, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, his erection jutting out hot and hard between them. She could feel the hair on his legs against her inner thighs. 

It was wrong. She looked down at Ron's miserable face and she knew that he knew it too.

But it wasn't wrong because she was being forced into it or because it was something she felt she had to do because he was her best friend.

It was wrong because she wanted _more_.

She wanted this. Poisonous berries or not, she wanted to do this with him. But the way it was happening now, it wasn't right. It wasn't fair. They were both miserable and that was not how it was supposed to be.

She looked down at Ron again. 

Then she kissed him.

For a split second, he didn't respond and she was terrified that she had made a horrible, humiliating mistake but then he responded with such enthusiasm he nearly knocked both of them out of the bed. He pushed back against her mouth, struggling to sit up, trying to take control.

So even their kisses were to be a war.

But in this case, she had the upper hand. Ron was weakened from the poison, and with her weight on top of him and the force of her exuberance, she easily drove his head back into the pillow. He didn't seem too upset about it, given the low groan that escaped him, a sound that sent a delicious shiver down her spine. She put her hands on either side of his face, feeling his faint stubble, as she sucked his lower lip into his mouth.

“I want this,” she murmured against his mouth. “I want _you_. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly. “Bloody hell, yes. I want you too.” He kissed her again, harder, his tongue swirling deep into her mouth as his hands tangled in her hair.

She tugged impatiently on his shirt, helping him shimmy awkwardly out of it, and tossing it off to the side. She only had the chance to marvel at his bare chest for a moment because his hands were up under her shirt, his warm fingertips tracing fire all over her bare skin as he pulled it over her head. He fumbled with the back of her bra before she impatiently shoved his hands away and did it herself, tossing it onto the long-forgotten pile of clothes beside the bed. 

“Oh, wait, wait,” she said suddenly and dismounted him, Ron reaching after her in disappointment.

She dashed down to the end of the bed and triumphantly removed his socks, brandishing them at him for a moment before tossing them onto the ground. Entirely pleased, she climbed back up into the bed and threw her leg over his lap once again.

She was entirely naked in front of him but she was not the least bit self-conscious. It finally felt _right_. She wanted to relish this chance, to take her time, to explore him. But Ron, while looking exceedingly eager, also looked exceedingly weak. 

There was no time.

“Are you ready?” she whispered.

He nodded, looking both excited and terrified.

She rose as high as she could on her knees and gripped his penis in one hand. It was hot, and as silky as she had imagined. She pumped it in her hand experimentally, fascinated. Ron threw his head back into the pillow, the veins jutting out of his neck. “Better not,” he said through clenched teeth and she laughed breathlessly. She positioned him against the wet, soft core of her and slowly, slowly, began to sink down on top of him.

It _hurt_. She had overheard enough whispered conversations between other girls in school to know that her first time was likely not going to pleasant but she hadn't been prepared for this. She hissed against the sharp pain, the burning fullness that stretched her. She stopped her descent, unable to continue.

“I'm sorry,” Ron said quietly.

“It's okay,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just give me a minute.”

She knelt there, hovering above him, miserable. His hands moved in comforting circles over her thighs and the feel of his skin on hers was a pleasant distraction. She needed more.

“Touch me,” she said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

He immediately reached between her legs and she swatted his hand away. “Not there.”

“Okay, okay.” 

He swept upward from her belly until he reached her breasts. He traced light, barely-there circles around them before sweeping the flesh into his hands and squeezing, kneading them firmly enough to give waves of pleasure but not sharp enough to hurt. His movements were strong and steady, her nipples tightening under his fingers as he slowly, rhythmically massaged her with his strong, warm hands. 

_That_ was good. She sighed and gave herself over to his ministrations, focusing her attention on how good he was making her feel.

Her eyes popped open when she felt his thighs once again beneath her bum. Startled, she looked down.

He was inside her. 

“Ron,” she said breathlessly, looking down at the very point where they joined.

“You're beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “You're so beautiful.”

There was no medical reason for anything else. Ron's penis was inside her as deep as she could take it. The immunity had already been passed, the cure was taking effect. Professor McGonagall had said nothing about orgasms or finishing the act. They certainly didn't need to keep going, but with the way he was looking at her, she was damned if she was going to stop now.

But now that she was up there, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. How was she supposed to move? Back and forth? Up and down, maybe? That's what it looked like in the movies. But how? Her thighs were spread wide, how was she supposed to get any leverage? Maybe McGonagall had been right, maybe some instruction would have been a good idea - 

No, no, no. Thinking of Professor McGonagall right now was not going to get the job done.

She braced her hands against Ron's shoulders and tentatively lifted and lowered her hips a few inches. It still hurt, but not nearly as much.

Ron let loose a very impressive string of swear words.

“Good?” she said nervously.

“Yes,” he gasped.

She repeated the movement, more confidently this time, again and again, building a rhythm, revelling in the intense look on Ron's face. His eyes travelled all over her, from her breasts down to where they were joined, then back to her face and his hands gripped her hips tightly. It made her feel incredibly powerful. It was also incredibly attractive. Sex-Ron looked very similar to Angry-Ron and she wondered how she was ever going to have a fight with him again without wanting to shred his clothes off.

Ron seemed to be getting stronger by the second. He gripped her hips tightly and thrust up into her, so hard that her knees momentarily left the bed. She cried out, a mingled howl of pleasure and pain.

Ron looked up sharply. “It's okay,” she panted to answer the question in his eyes. “I'm okay, don't stop.” 

He tugged on her sides, bringing her down to lie more fully on top of him. She rested her elbows on either side of his head, swirling her fingers into his beautiful fiery hair and kissing him. He began moving again, more slowly this time. She dropped her forehead to the pillow beside him, sighing as the new angle sent fresh sparks of pain and pleasure through her.

Ron was doing all the work now and with his chest rubbing against her breasts, his heated breath panting right against her ear and the friction from his thrusts, the pain fell into the background as pleasure took the forefront. It felt _good_ , what they were doing, and she moaned into his ear and rocked her hips to match his thrusts.

It didn't last much longer. Ron's breath in her ear grew more ragged, his grip tighter and his slow, careful rhythm dissolved into something frantic and wild and she clutched at him, just trying to hang on. She cried out as she felt him grow inside her and he answered with her name, thrusting hard one last time, then weaker, before finally going still.

She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, so hard she was momentarily concerned for his health. But it slowed as they lay quietly together, his breath returning to normal too as his hands drew small circles around her lower back and he pressed weak kisses across her shoulder and neck.

Intimate as it was, she was too sore to stay in this position for long so she sat back up, feeling mingled relief and disappointment as his penis slid out of her. A sticky wetness pooled between them.

“There's a bit of a mess,” she said. He passed her her wand from the night stand and averted his eyes as she silently performed a few cleaning charms on both of them.

She moved to climb off him, but Ron's hands were locked tightly around her hips. “Don't go,” he said quietly.

She stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to look casual, as if straddling him naked was something she did every day.

“Feeling better?” she said, to break the silence.

He laughed. “Yeah.” 

His thumb had begun tracing slow circles around her hip in a way that was most distracting.

“That wasn't very fun for you,” Ron said.

“It was fine,” she said. “It did hurt at first but it got better.”

“That still doesn't sound like fun.” The sweep of his thumb had gotten larger, brushing inside her hip bone now. She squirmed a little.

“It was – it was...” She gave up trying to be coherent. His thumb traced further inward, making her eyes flutter closed. He was so close now. His thumb brushed against the edge of her pubic hair -

And stopped.

She looked sharply at him. He was looking up at her questioningly, his mouth slightly open.

“Yes,” she said, hearing the breathiness in her own voice. “God, yes please.”

She didn't have to tell him again.

He slide his thumb deftly between her spread lips, trailing from her vagina up to her clitoris in one smooth motion. She arched and gasped at his touch, the brief contact sending sharp tendrils of pleasure shooting out from her core. He put his thumb over her clitoris, pressing gently and moving it in a slow circle, looking up at her questioningly. She mewled and nodded, feeling her eyes flutter closed.

His fingers replaced his thumb, repeating the same circular motion, building the tension inside her. He dipped into her entrance but it was too much, she was still too sensitive, so she winced and pushed his hand away. His fingers retreated back up to her clitoris and resumed his pattern of movement. He moved his fingers a little faster this time and she whimpered again, bucking her hips toward him, trying to manoeuvre his hand to the right spot. 

He seemed to sense her frustration. “Help me,” he said. “Show me.”

She reached down between them but rather than push him out of the way, she twined her fingers with his, guiding his hand so that both of them were touching her where she needed.

“Shit, Hermione,” he groaned, his eyes glued to their fingers. He was hard again (still?) against her bum and she ground herself against it, making Ron groan again.

He was a willing, eager student and she vaguely thought that if Ron put as much effort into his studies as he was putting into learning this, he could easily be the next Dumbledore. He let her take the lead, following her movements, closely watching her reactions, stretching occasionally to kiss her breasts or her neck or her mouth.

The pressure built inside as their entwined fingers glided over her, lubricated by her wetness. She sped up her movements and Ron followed her, his own breath starting to come in ragged pants. She rocked her hips to match the rhythm of their fingers, thrusting hard against their hands. 

The tightness in her core grew to unbearable levels. She threw her head back and Ron was instantly at her neck, sucking feverishly at her skin, and she felt that familiar coiling low in her stomach.

“Ron,” she panted. “Ron, I'm going to - ”

The tension snapped, radiating waves of pleasure through her body. Her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders as her muscles clenched and all rational thought left her. She arched backward, counting on Ron to hold her, and he did, his strong arm keeping her locked tightly against him while their fingers drew out every last ounce of pleasure.

When the last shiver had passed, Ron fell back against the bed and, boneless, she collapsed down on top of him, shifting her aching legs to rest between his. She willed herself to open her eyes but couldn't so settled for snuggling against his broad chest, feeling his flushed skin under her cheek. 

“Wow,” Ron said, sounding dumbfounded. “That was awesome.”

She gave a tired laugh. When she finally found the strength to open her eyes, Ron was smiling and looking at her proudly, happily...

Almost, she would swear, _lovingly_.

He leaned his forehead against hers and opened his mouth to speak - 

And the door at the far end of the infirmary burst open. Hermione could hear Madam Pomfrey's breathless, panicked voice. “Get back here, you!”

“Ron!”

It was Harry. And he was coming this way. She met Ron's eyes, his frantic face mirroring her expression of horror.

She racked her mind for a spell, something to make her invisible, even something to blind Harry but the only thing that popped into her head was her Muggle childhood fire safety training.

_Stop, drop, and roll._

She pushed herself out of Ron's arms, landing ungraciously on the ground in a tangle of awkward limbs. In another split second she was under the bed, tucking herself into as small of a ball as she possibly could.

“Ron!”

Harry's voice was louder and closer. Above her, she could hear Ron's panicky flopping around as he tried to cover himself with the sheets. At the very last second she spotted her bra, sitting brazenly on top of the pile of discarded clothes and yanked it under the bed with her just in as the curtain surrounding the bed was thrown back.

She could see Harry's shoes. One of them was coming untied. 

“Ron, what happened? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Ron said. “Feeling great.”

“What happened?” Harry said.

“He was poisoned.” Hermione could see Pomfrey's matronly white shoes now too. “Was the treatment... performed? Did it work as expected?” she said.

“Yes,” Ron said. “It worked. No itch. Lots of energy. All better.”

“Poisoned?” Harry said. “Was the treatment terrible?” 

“Uh, no,” Ron said in a strained voice. “I've had much worse.”

She could feel laughter bubbling up inside her, picturing Harry's face if Ron actually went into any details of the cure. Or what he would do if he looked under the bed and saw his other best friend, naked as the day she was born. 

She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to strangle the laughter that was trying to escape.

“Why's your shirt off?” Harry said in a puzzled voice and Hermione squeaked against her hand, the tears beginning to stream down her face as she struggled to stay silent.

“A side effect of the cure is an increased temperature,” Madam Pomfrey said helpfully. “I'm sure Ron was just trying to cool down.”

“Right,” Ron said in a strangled voice and she could tell he was trying not to laugh too and that made her want to laugh even more and she wasn't going to be able to contain herself, she just knew it -

“So if you're done meddling,” Pomfrey said to Harry pointedly, “I need to do some last tests on Mister Weasley here. Out with you.”

_Just a few more seconds -_

She held her breath, listening to his footsteps retreat. Finally, from the far end of the infirmary, she heard a door swing shut. “You can come out now, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey said in a tired voice.

She burst out laughing first, the absurdity of the whole situation finally getting the best of her. She could see the bed above her start to shake and she knew Ron was doing the same.

“If you two are finished,” Madam Pomfrey said.

Sheepishly, Hermione crawled out from under the bed, shaking a few dust bunnies from her hair.

“Are you alright, dear?” Pomfrey said quietly. Hermione nodded and Pomfrey gave her a gentle pat on the arm. “I'll leave you two alone then.”

Ron politely averted her eyes as she got dressed, although there was really no point to his chivalry. He'd already seen everything there was to see on her. But because he looked away, she paid him the same courtesy as he began pulling on his clothes.

An awkward silence descended as reality set back in.

It was over, he was safe, and that in itself was cause for celebration. But now she had to deal with the fallout of what had happened between them.

What was she supposed to do? They'd just had sex. How was she ever going to be able to look him in the eyes after this? How was she supposed to sit beside him in class knowing how his hands had moved over her body? How was she supposed to go back to pining for him from afar when she knew what it felt like to kiss him?

“Are we going to be okay?” It was Ron who said it, even though it had been exactly what she was thinking.

“Of course, we'll be fine,” she said brightly, although she wasn't sure at all. “We're two reasonable, mature adults, there's no reason this has to change the dynamic of our relationship. We're still best friends, we're just best friends who engaged in a brief sexual relationship to facilitate a remedy to a rare medical condition and now our social dynamic can go right back to - ”

She was babbling. Ron was looking at her in confusion so she stopped, snapping her mouth shut. 

“We'll be fine,” she said again, weakly. With nothing more to say about it, she turned to leave.

“Hey, wait,” Ron said, catching her hand and tugging her back toward him. She looked at him expectantly.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” Ron said. His face had gone red again. “I know that was asking a lot.”

“It saved your life,” she said. “I'm glad you asked me, I was happy to do it.” That had been a little revealing. She could feel another flush, her umpteenth of the day, creeping her way up her neck and turned once again to leave.

“Hey, wait,” Ron said and tugged on her hand again. She laughed and turned back toward him again.

He chewed on his lip for a moment, watching her, and when he spoke his voice was halting and slow. “About what you said, about wanting to do this, wanting me. Did – did you mean that? Because – I did and I hope you did too.”

There it was, finally. After years of war, of dissecting his every move, his every word, of plotting counter-attacks and defensive strategies to maintain the upper hand, Ron had beaten her simply by laying his cards on the table. 

He wanted her. She shook her head, speechless. 

“That's okay,” Ron said in a dull, embarrassed voice. “I figured you were just - ”

“No,” she said, quickly finding her voice again. “No, Ron, I meant it too. I did want you, I _do_.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

He took a tentative step toward her and she wondered how, after everything that had just transpired between them, the thought of kissing him could make her so incredibly nervous. 

Ron gently put a hand on the side of her face and bent down toward her. She raised her chin to meet his lips, her own hands fisting in his t-shirt. The kiss was slow and undemanding, with a sort of sweetness that she hadn't thought Ron capable of. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed as a warm, tingling feeling started in her heart and slowly spread throughout her body all the way down to her toes. She kissed him back equally gently, equally slow, trying to preserve the moment because this, finally, what what she had truly always wanted.

When they finally broke apart again, Ron rest his forehead against hers. “I've wanted to do that for a long time,” he said.

“Me too.” 

They smiled shyly at each other. 

“And to think,” Ron said, “all it took was me nearly dying.”

“Well don't feel like you have to do that again,” she said. “No more picking strange plants for me, okay?”

“Deal,” Ron laughed. “Store-bought only from here out.” He looked around the room. “Looks like we've still got the place to ourselves. Come back in bed with me?” When she gave him a prim look he put his hands innocently up in the air. “I just thought we could lay here for a bit.”

“ _Lie_ ,” she corrected automatically, but it was a lovely prospect so she followed him back to the infirmary cot.

“My girlfriend is such a nerd,” Ron said, shaking his head, but she was too charmed by his word choice to even bother with a witty retort. 

He grinned at her and held his arms out. She nestled against him, face to face, their whole bodies entwined around each other from top to bottom. She kissed him once, twice, gently on the mouth as his strong arms wrapped around her, keeping their bodies locked together.

After so many years of war, she thought, of wins and losses, advancements and setbacks, perhaps the upper hand was something that could be shared.


End file.
